


Stay

by ValleyNerd



Category: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-15
Updated: 2012-12-15
Packaged: 2017-11-21 04:35:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/593512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValleyNerd/pseuds/ValleyNerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Syaoran returns feathers to Sakura during the chess arc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay

Sakura always had an affinity for water. Growing up in the desert, she knew water as cool and soothing and life-giving. Pure. It was nothing like the blood that stained her dress. Blood that made her fingers slip over her friend’s face. She looked into Fai’s mis-matched eyes, but he didn’t look back. There was too much blood on the ground around him.  
  
Her tears were hot, cutting through the cooling blood. Kurogane lay not far from her. At least, what was left of Kurogane. He fought to his last breath, until his opponent finally slashed his legs out from under him and kept cutting. And cutting. And cutting. Until at last the shinobi had no fingers to cage a feather.  
  
Crying just as much as Sakura, Mokona launched himself at the feather, curled his tiny body around it, and flew away, only to be caught and thrown to the ground. He gave a cry of pain, then Sakura lost sight of him amid the rubble. There was a boot, then the sound of crunching. Another cry of pain, another crunch, a sickening squelch, then Mokona was silent.  
  
Fingers dug into her arm, bruising strength dragging her to her feet. Half of his face was a grotesque bruise, but his eyes still staggered her. When she couldn’t bring herself to move, and he couldn’t move her, he put himself between her and their attacker. She watched his back as he swung his sword around, hands already forming the signs for his magic and then a blade pierced him, nearly struck her.  
  
The original “Syaoran” fell to his knees, still gripping the sword in his chest. Still trying to use his magic. Still trying to defend her. Still trying to protect her.  
  
The attacker released his sword. He grabbed “Syaoran’s” face. The boy screamed his magic as the other dug his fingers into his face, into his eyes. Sakura turned away, abruptly sick. Lightning burst from “Syaoran’s” hands, but it did little more than flicker brilliantly. The attacker was unharmed.  
  
“Syaoran” fell to the ground, succumbing to his wounds. Sakura couldn’t see his face. Didn’t want to. Someone was screaming, crying, and it took a second for her to realize it was her. She sobbed. She begged. “Don’t do this. You can’t do this. Please.”  
  
Once, he looked at her and his gaze was clear, a shade of amber like warm honey. He used to smile, when she couldn’t remember something. His sad smile broke her heart, but when he smiled when he was happy, it was like a sunburst on a cloudy day he was friendly and warm and amiable and there and she could have just _sang_ he was so beautiful.  
  
Her stomach empty, her heart heavy, her head pounding, she was forced to turn around and face the attacker. Fai’s blue eyes used to sparkle like water under a sunset, but seemed frozen in this face. The mis-matched amber made everything wrong. He was distant, unreachable. Heartless.  
  
“Syaoran-kun, please,” she whimpered. He bruised her arm, yanking her to her feet again. She hadn’t realized she’d fallen. She couldn’t keep herself upright. One leg wouldn’t cooperate. She knew if she looked she’d see the broken bones, the metal run through it, the blood soaking it.  
  
“I will kill,” Syaoran said. “I will kill anyone in my way. I will find all the feathers.”  
  
There was the familiar sense of merging, as he brought the feather in front of her. She felt light-headed. Fuzzy. Disconnected. “Please,” she begged. For what, she could hardly remember. She touched his hand, and there was no change in his expression. He remained stoic. Emotionless. Unmoved. “Please don’t leave me again.”  
  
She started to fade. She couldn’t make sense of what he said. “... feathers,” she understood. “I will,” she read on his lips. Her vision went blurry, and she heard him say “Sakura.”  
  
Then she woke, gasping, scared, not sure if she was alive or dead but for the phantom pain in her ankle. There was a silhouette in her room, sitting at the end of her bed. She recognized the short, messy hair, and the wiry, compact muscles in the shoulders.  
  
It took two tries for her to find her voice. “I... I told you I wanted you to have your freedom.” He didn’t move. “You don’t have to follow me around any more. I’ll be fine by... my... self...”  
  
The boy at the end of her bed turned to her, but his eyes were mismatched and far away.  
  
“Syaoran-kun,” she breathed. He made a gesture with his hand, and she noticed the feather he held. He must have done something, because surely by now Mokona should have sensed the feather and burst into her room. And Fai, who was sure he would be able to tell if Syaoran was near, was silent in his own room. “Please,” she said when he raised the feather. “Please, wait.”  
  
She didn’t expect him to, but he stopped. Heart pounding hope in her chest, she wrestled free of her blankets and sat next to him. She searched his eyes for some hint of recognition, of the warmth she was used to from him, and found nothing. He just watched her. He let her push aside the feather, carefully not touching it.  
  
“I don’t need the feathers,” she told him. “I don’t need to remember when I was little. I just need you here with me.”  
  
He just watched her.  
  
“Mokona explained physical memories to me,” she said softly. “I know... you can still remember. I know it’s your heart that’s gone, and not your memories. But I hope, if I can’t reach you... Maybe a physical memory...”  
  
Without thinking too much about it, hoping only to reach him, she leaned in and kissed him next to his blue eye, as she’d done before.  
  
The feather made no sound as it fell to the ground, and she only realized he’d dropped it when he brought that hand up to her arm. She pulled back, and just for a second, she could have sworn his features softened. His eyes focused on her.  
  
“Syaoran-kun,” she smiled. He kissed her, almost desperately. She let herself melt into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and reveled in the single most blissful moment of her life, pressed against him, him pulling her close, lips sliding against each other.  
  
In the span of a breath, he was impassive again, and she may as well have kissed a doll. Frustrated, hurt, she looked in his eyes. He was gone again. Anger surged through her, burned away the pain, as she gripped the front of his shirt. “Syaoran-kun.”  
  
He just watched her.  
  
She forced back the tears, turning it to anger as she shook him. “Syaoran-kun,” she repeated. “Come back.” She kissed him again, more forcefully. When he didn’t react the kiss became more teeth and tears and frustration for her. Swallowing a cry of dismay, she lashed out and shoved him, so that he landed on his back on the bed. She lept astride him, and when he continued to just look at her with those cool, uncaring eyes, she shook him again.  
  
She didn’t care any more. Let whoever hear and let whoever come. She yelled at him, screamed his name, demanding he come back. She was beside herself, she knew. Through all the shaking, the shouting, he just took it. He didn’t move. A sob tore free of her and she slapped him across the face.  
  
His expression flickered, made her catch her breath. She grabbed his chin and made him look at her, but it was too late. Defeated, she half-collapsed on him, burying her face in his chest.  
  
His breath caught. She pushed herself up to look at his face, and watched as he gasped. She felt her cheeks grow warm as she realized why, and just how compromising a position she was in.  
  
This was indecent. This was obscene.  This was brash and unbecoming of a princess.  
  
But if it could bring Syaoran back...  
  
She’d be lying if she ever told anyone she hadn’t thought about it. There were many times they’d been close, and she wondered what it would be like if they were just a little closer. If his hands were just a little lower. Or a little higher. If he were a little less polite, she a little more bold. She’d be lying if she said she never fantasized.  
  
How horrible a person did it make her, if she went through with this? What if it didn’t work? And would she feel worse if it did? Would it change things between them? Would he hate her?  
  
Experimentally, she moved her hips against him. His hands came up to her thighs, and she saw him swallow. She decided, then, she didn’t care. If it brought him back, she would go through with it. If it didn’t, she doubted he’d care anyway. She would deal with the consequences. Later.  
  
She leaned down again, kissed him, knowing he wouldn’t kiss her back. Hesitant, almost shy, she kissed his cheek, his jaw, his neck. She felt his pulse jump under her lips. She slid her hands over his arms, over his chest, down his stomach, to curl her fingers under the part of his shirt that split into almost-coattails. She started to push it up over his stomach and then he suddenly sat up, nearly toppling her out of his lap.  
  
When she regained her balance, his shirt was gone, and he was watching her. Was she to take that as permission granted? Shameless, she looked at him, memorized the swell of his shoulders, the dip of his collarbone, the planes of his abs, before gently touching him. She slid her fingers up his body, raising goosebumps on his skin. She pushed him back down, not angry this time, but cautious.   
  
She already decided she wouldn’t hesitate any more, so why was she hesitating now, when it mattered? She kissed his neck again, then his collarbone. She trailed her hands down his sides, following with tiny kisses down his stomach, crawling down his body until she was mostly standing, leaning her knees against the bed. Almost teasingly, she ran her fingertips under the waistband of his pants.  
  
Syaoran moved like he was going to undo the clasp of his pants, but she pinned his wrists to the bed. She pointedly pushed them down before releasing him. He didn’t move again, watching as she unfastened and slid his pants down his legs until they fell to the ground.  
  
In her travels she came to be familiar with elastic and elastic underwear, but the black things he wore under his outfit was at such odds with his normal wear that it temporarily threw her off. She removed those from him, too.  
  
She ran her hands over his naked body from his knees to his hips to his shoulders, and she delighted in his quiet moan. Trying to get a repeated sound, she lightly dragged her fingernails across him, testing what areas made him gasp, what made him jump. She found a spot on his hips that had him coming undone, actually writhing on the bed, grasping at the sheets. She tried her lips on that spot, which earned her a strangled shout.   
  
Crawling over him, she found his brow furrowed, his bottom lip between his teeth, it it was simply the best expression she’d ever seen on him. No matter that his eyes were mismatched, he looked at her, nearly pleading. She stood for just a moment, discarding her own undergarments, and straddled him again, over his thighs.  
  
Carefully, watching his face, she curled her fingers around his erection. He arched his back, hands trembling by his sides. She moved her hand, slowly, up and down, and she finally had to press her other hand to his chest and tell him to hold still, he was squirming so much. The effort to do so showed on his face.  
  
Moving that hand from his chest to next to his shoulder, she rose to her knees above him. “Syaoran-kun,” she whispered, teasing his manhood with slow strokes. “Please, say my name.”  
  
His lips moved, but he didn’t speak. She pressed her hips against him, started grinding against him, and he hissed.  
  
“Syaoran-kun,” she begged him. He made a sound that could have been the beginning of her name, but he stopped. She kissed his neck, gently bit and sucked at it, earning another syllable, but not her name. He became slick beneath her, from their grinding, until finally she took a breath and refused to hesitate.  
  
His hands snapped to her hips, holding her close, neck arched, when she took him inside her. She winced, grinding her teeth at the discomfort, the foreign feeling of something, someone, inside her body. He writhed.  
  
“D-don’t,” she managed to say. “Don’t move.” He froze, though his chest heaved with his every breath and she could see the pulse at his neck, beneath the red marks she’d left there. His fingers dug into her, and though the pain was almost a sort of pleasure, it threw her off. She grabbed his wrists and pinned them up next to his head.  
  
She moved, experimentally, adjusting to the feel of him. The length and the width of him. His entire body was tense, like a coil ready to snap. She slowly wiggled her hips, rose up and down with her legs, until she found there was no more discomfort, and Syaoran was panting beneath her.  
  
“Look at me,” she demanded. He obeyed and his eyes were so close to normal it nearly hurt her. She moved her hips again and his eyes closed. “No,” she said, “don’t look away from me.” He opened his eyes again, and she knew, somehow, her Syaoran, the Syaoran she loved, the Syaoran that cared for her, was somewhere in there, just below the surface. Every stroke, every slide, every time he slipped inside her, she drew him closer, and drew closer to her own undoing. She felt a pressure building, low in her body, until she put his arms around her, held onto him, and moved against him with everything she was worth.  
  
Her pleasure spiked when he thrust up, into her, breath hot on her ear, one hand on her neck, holding her close, the other at the small of her back, restricting her movements until he was the only one moving and she was curling her toes as waves of pleasure made her feel like she was floating, like Syaoran was the only solid and real thing in her world.  
  
Syaoran groaned, becoming rigid and still and then “ _Sakura_ ,” and he kissed her and everything exploded and stilled and _he kissed her_.  
  
Her heart pounding like she’d just run a mile, exhausted in an entirely new way, it took effort for her to open her eyes again, but it was worth it to see that warm honey-eyed smile and she treasured it and smiled back for all the three seconds before it slid away and Syaoran was gone behind distant mismatched eyes. She buried her face in his neck and continually stroked his cheek with her thumb, and she felt defeated but for a few moments she had everything.  
  
He sat up, and though he kept his arms around her it was no longer a tender embrace. He pushed her away and she tried to fight him and as her feet hit the floor she felt the disconnect and merge and had the time to think “Oh damn,” before she fainted.  
  
When she woke, she found the sheets of her bed righted, her body cleaned up, and herself tucked under the covers. For a moment she despaired that it’d been a dream and rolled over, burying her face in her pillow and wrapping her arms around it. There was a knock on her door, but she ignored it.  
  
“Princess?” the other “Syaoran” called from the other side of the door. “Are you awake?” He endured another few moments of being ignored before he opened the door. He... made a curious sort of squeak and started stammering. Confused and mildly concerned, she raised her head and looked at him. His face was absolutely red, and he stared determinedly at the ceiling.  
  
What the hell?  
  
“Um, th-the, the others are um. Breakfast is ready. If you. Uh, you might consider... freshening up before... eating. I’m sorry.” Then he left, closing the door behind him and leaving her baffled.  
  
She sat up and realized a new ache between her legs, which caught her by surprise. It wasn’t a dream? She thought she’d be... messier? But the undeniable proof lay on the floor, half-tucked under the bed. Her own underwear lay discarded, and a black pair fairly crumpled next to it. For a second, her heart soared. It wasn’t a dream! And then she buried her face in her pillow again. “Syaoran” _saw_ that on the floor!  
  
Breakfast was no more awkward than normal, as Sakura had been treating “Syaoran” coldly already. He would only blush when he looked at her, and he didn’t do that very often that day anyway. The chess finals still two days away, they had little to do. Fai pestered Kurogane, “Syaoran” read books allotted to them in their living space, and Sakura played with Mokona. The day passed uneventfully until Fai decided it was time to drink. “Syaoran” absconded to his room, leaving the rest of them to their debauchery.  
  
The night passed in a blur, until Sakura woke up in bed again, with silence outside her door. She assumed everyone else had either passed out or gone to sleep. When she stood to change into night clothes, she found she was still drunk. She must have either drank more than she first thought, or not been asleep for very long. Either scenario was likely.  
  
If her Syaoran appeared again that night... she would be ready this time. She changed her clothes and crawled into bed, though she didn’t sleep. She replayed the previous night in her head and waited, hoped, that he would come back.  
  
She didn’t know how long she waited, but she felt a shift in the room, like it’d become quieter. Wobbly though she was, she got out of bed and found her Syaoran standing before a closing seam in the dimensions. She went to him, she wanted to kiss him, but he stopped her at arm’s length with a hand on her shoulder. He placed another feather on her bed, then really looked at her.  
  
She was long over feeling embarrassed or ashamed of the things people made her wear, but Syaoran looking at her made her blush. “I... wanted to show you this outfit,” she said. She stood before him in her master’s dress, for the chess game, collar and all, though she’d left off the gloves. His eyes went over her bare shoulders, the low neckline of the dress, the high hem of the skirt. The hand at her shoulder smoothed down her arm as he brought the other to gently play over her collarbone and to her neck.  
  
His finger hooked in the chain link of her collar and he pulled her forward, into an unexpected but not unwelcome kiss. Her hands went to his waist, slid up his back and held him close. She blissfully lost herself in him until she was sent staggering, and found her back to a wall.   
  
He had an arm on either side of her, hands flat on the wall, and he loomed over her. There was a difficult expression on his face, like the Syaoran she knew was so close to the surface, just a single push might bring him forward or lose him again. She touched his face, tried to make eye contact.  
  
“Come back to me,” she whispered. “Do whatever you have to do to come back to me. Please.” The line of his mouth moved like he wanted to speak, but couldn’t. He kissed her again, searching, arms trapping her until he gripped her shoulders. She kissed him back with everything she could, touching his face, his neck, pulling him close. She hated their height difference, preventing her from pressing as close to him as she wanted.  
  
His movements were quick, a little rough. His palms slid down her body, over the frilled edge of the dress and over the thick bodice, one hand staying at her hip as the other went lower, fingernails grazing up her leg and under her skirt. She whimpered into his lips, then his mouth opened to her and his tongue slid against hers. She moaned when his fingers found the edge of her panties, pushed under them, slipped over her. It drew a similar sound from his throat, and it made her weak in the knees.   
  
His kisses trailed down her neck, down to her collarbone, and the feel of his teeth there made her arch against him. Her heart pounded in her ears, and she cried out when he pushed a finger inside her. For maybe five seconds he teased her with his hands, and then abruptly he ripped away from her, made her gasp at the sudden loss of his warmth, his touch. Then with both hands he tore her panties down and he was on his knees in front of her. His head was under her skirt and his tongue oh she was _melting_.  
  
He held both her hips in a tight grip, keeping her from squirming, as he licked at her entrance and inside her and over one spot that made her yelp his name. He favored that spot, and she thought she might fall just from that but when his fingers were inside her again her legs absolutely shook.  
  
Her balance and her strength gave out and she fell, and Syaoran moved so that she fell on her hands and knees and he was still under her, touching her, tonguing her, and she couldn’t see straight. She couldn’t support herself on her hands, instead dropping to her elbows. The hand that wasn’t driving her crazy inside her body went to her hip, fingers digging into the same spot she’d found on him last night. She convulsed around him with a cry. When he groaned against her, she gasped his name, head going fuzzy as all of her body became warm and light and she didn’t have the strength to support herself at all.  
  
Syaoran gave her a last few, lazy strokes with his tongue before he wriggled out from underneath her, lifting her with hands around her waist. She couldn’t really feel her legs any more. He directed her toward the bed, sweeping the feather off of it before she collapsed on it, face in her pillow. He kissed her shoulders, her back, warm hands gliding down her sides to her hips.  
  
“Sakura... please...” he whispered, guiding her onto her knees. Shakily, she moved on her own as well, pushing up to balance on her elbows. The sound and feel of the zipper at her back made her shiver, warm hands slipping it off of her made her bite her lip. Lifting one knee then the other, the garment was discarded. He kissed her back again, one hand on the inside of her thigh, the other trailing up her stomach. His hand shook when he palmed her breast, and she could feel his panting breath on her shoulder. “Please?” he whispered again.  
  
“Syaoran-kun,” she groaned, pressing her hips into his behind her. He pinched gently at her nipple, making her arch her back. She pushed back until they were both on their knees and her hands were behind her, working at the front of his pants. His mouth was at her neck, hands on her breast and at the top of her thigh, and everything was almost. Somehow she got his pants down over his hips and she realized when he was pressed bare against her that he wasn’t wearing underwear this time.  
  
She gripped his length, pressed it against the folds of her entrance and made him groan, rocking against him and stroking him and she felt his teeth in her shoulder. She lifted her hips, tilted him with her fingers, pulled him inside her with a throaty moan.  
  
She found herself face-down on the bed again, Syaoran on her back and moving inside her and fondling her breasts and working that one spot he’d found with his tongue and all she could do was press back against his thrusts, scream his name each time he buried himself inside her. She nearly tore at the sheets with her hands and her heart slammed in her chest and she could have just cried because Syaoran was growling and chanting her name like a fucking prayer.  
  
She closed her mouth, trying to groan quieter so she could hear him, bit her lip when he thrust into her harder. Warmth spread inside her and his movements stuttered to a halt at the same time she curled her toes and her vision went white at the edges.  
  
The soft bed below her, Syaoran on top of and inside her, Sakura felt safe, loved. She didn’t know how long they lay like that, catching their breath, but it wasn’t long enough. Syaoran slipped out of her, pushed to his hands and knees. She wasn’t ready to let go. She rolled over and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulled him down again, wrapped her legs around his waist, held onto him, and held onto the vision of his surprise, his quick half-smile, before his face was next to hers and she couldn’t see him.   
  
He took a shuddering breath, a sigh. She couldn't think of a single thing she wouldn’t trade to keep him there, to just fall asleep like they were. She was given a few long, but altogether too short minutes to snuggle with him, his arms wrapped around her. When he started to pull away again, she could have cried.  
  
Except he stopped. He propped himself on his elbows and looked down at her, blue and amber eyes honest and clear and it was her Syaoran looking at her.  
  
“Sakura-hime,” he smiled. She grinned back at him, brushing his bangs out of his eyes.  
  
“Welcome back, Syaoran-kun.”  
  
“You brought me back,” he whispered, a bit in wonder. She drew him into a crushing hug.H e hugged her back, inching up her body to kiss her as well. While the kiss left her feeling whole, it drew her attention lower and she squeaked in surprise.  
  
He broke the kiss, averting his gaze from her. After everything, he still blushed. “H-how... how are you still...?” she couldn’t finish the question.  
  
“It... happens sometimes,” he said, somehow blushing even harder. She tried not to laugh, ended up smiling, and touched his face to make him kiss her again, winding her arms over his back. She slid her legs down the back of his thighs, made his breath catch when she ground against him. “Sakura-hime, you will be my undoing.”  
  
“Sakura,” she whispered. “Just call me Sakura.”  
  
His smile was brilliant and sad and happy all at the same time. “Sakura,” he said. She thought he was going to kiss her again but his attention went to her neck and shoulders, which he covered in tiny nips of his teeth and kisses. He slid against her core, making her shiver and want him all over again. His touch was gentle, exploratory. She delighted in the brush of his calloused fingers, the skim of his short fingernails, the feather-light touch of his kiss.  
  
Within moments of this sweet torment she felt as if her skin were on fire and all she wanted was Syaoran to continue to touch her, to take her, to be inside her. She hadn’t realized she’d voiced this desire until Syaoran said “As my princess commands,” and buried himself inside her, making her gasp, cling to him, and say his name.  
  
Each drag and push was slow, deliberate. Sakura made a noise in the back of her throat each time he pulled away, almost out, and sighed when he slid into her again. She fought to keep her eyes open and on Syaoran. Though he watched her, his gaze was intense, focused, present. His expression was on the border of something between bliss and wonder.  
  
“Please.” She pulled him close, whispered into his ear. “Harder. Faster. Take me,” she dragged his earlobe between her teeth, “Syaoran-kun.”  
  
A low sound came from his throat, he braced himself on his hands, he snapped his hips forward. Sakura gasped, arching her neck.  
  
“Yes,” she breathed. She felt him alter positions, knees coming forward, and gripped her hips, lifting her slightly. Legs bent, back arched, she braced her hands on the headboard of the bed and his first thrust in that position nearly made her scream in pleasure. He didn’t stop. He was making a rolling motion with his hips and it nearly drove her mad. Though small, each thrust made her breasts bounce. She heard him making noise of his own and she tried to quiet herself again, to hear him.  
  
“No,” he panted, fingers digging into her a little rougher. “Don’t... Don’t hold back.”  
  
So she screamed. She groaned his name and shouted wordlessly and arched against him and begged him for more. Their motion rocked the bed and for a split second she wondered how no one could hear them and then Syaoran nearly matched her volume, her toes were curling, and the world was miles away.  
  
He settled over her, still inside her, arms around her, and they caught their breath together, hearts racing. Sakura melted into the bed and around Syaoran, peaceful. Happy. Satisfied. She must have drifted off like that. She was next aware of Syaoran sitting at the edge of her bed, the covers pulled over her. She didn’t feel her collar or her sleeves or any other bits of her chessmaster dress, and Syaoran was stroking her hair. She reached for his hand and fumbled.  
  
Her heart sank when she looked up and saw Syaoran’s distant gaze again. He held her feather before her and there were tears in her eyes when she felt the disconnect. Her eyes went dark, and she dreamed he said “I love you” as he kissed her forehead.  
  
She woke the next morning before all the others, bathed, dressed, and prepared for the chess finals. She would bring her Syaoran back. She would keep him this time.


End file.
